Fruit Bowl
by a blue fruit cup
Summary: She wants answers. The strawberry handling the fruit bowl will give her some. IchiHina Drabble


**_AN: I don't usually write IchiHina but I had a strong urge to do so recently. I hope you enjoy this short drabble._**

She pauses to watch him cut the fruit – fingers nimble and handling the knife with ease. It's no surprise that he can handle such a feat – the boy is known for handling his sword well – but the girl finds it interesting to observe the way he moves.

Peaches, three of them, are skinned and cut into thin slices before the orange-haired teen throws them into a bowl with an assortment of various fruit.

"Done," he smiles briefly, proud at his work, and wipes down the cutting board and counter before he picks up the fruit bowl and moves to the table. Ichigo sets it in between them, nodding passively. A moment later he's back on his feet and scrambling around the kitchen, "Fuck, forgot to get something to serve it with!"

It's intriguing to her, for reasons she can't quite figure out. The orange-haired boy is practically a prodigy and known for his abrasive behavior, yet every one of his actions speaks to her in a different way. She allows her guard to lower – slightly – while she watches. _  
_

""Yuzu didn't put it in its usual place. She's usually good about keeping the house organized. Someone else must have unloaded the dishwasher this morning," Ichigo comments as he sits back down. He shoves a metal spoon into the bowl, "…there." he nods, eyes scrunched and lips parted into a scowl.

Hinamori doesn't respond. She reaches for her plate and spoons fruit on it, aiming to acquire as many peach slices as possible.

"What? You alright?" Ichigo asks, serving himself in the process. "Usually you're louder than this."

_Louder than this._ The words ring through her mind, cutting through her good mood. Usually, she's throwing a tantrum over her _beloved_ Captain and the fragmented emotions that resulted from the ordeal. Her behavior is abnormal, and she is nothing less than a broken toy with _him_ gone. She questions why Ichigo volunteered to take her in for _'rehabilitation'_ in the first place.

While she would never admit it – it's one of the reasons she's surprised to hear Ichigo ask such a question, knowing full well she might snap. _'Why do you ask? Do you care?'_ is what she wants to say in response, but the girl refrains and looks down at her food, chewing slowly and savoring each fruit-filled bite. Isn't she just a random stranger? A random lieutenant who fell apart and couldn't piece herself back together when her Captain betrayed them?

"You know," Ichigo talks like this is a normal thing for the two. "When Rukia gets mad at me she'll slap me across the face. Or punch me in the jaw. Sometimes both."

Hinamori takes another bite, trying to focus on food rather than thinking. But when Ichigo opens his mouth to remark about something or another she can't help but cut in and ask curtly, "Why?"

It's one of the few words she's said all day. Ichigo freezes, startled, and drops the chunk of strawberry he was planning to eat. She watches the orange-haired teen carefully, studying his face for a response.

"Why what?" his eyes narrow, lips pursing, but she can recognize the expression's not in contempt – merely his natural reaction to everything. A neutral scowl.

Hinamori's eyes never leave him. The black-haired reaper stabs a chunk of strawberry on her plate, "Why are you doing this?"

"It's noon."

She shakes her head and pops the strawberry into her mouth. The taste is nowhere near the savory sweetness of a peach, but it's still tasty and fresh. "Not lunch," Hinamori says when she's finished it, eyes flicking across her plate for a peach slice. "Why are you doing _this?_"

"I help my friends." He grunts.

"I'm not a friend." Hinamori sizes up the facts and begins to lay them out in her words, "Up until now we've had zero interaction. I didn't even know who you were until others explained." She frowns, looking from her plate to the bowl, and reaches for the spoon to retrieve more peaches, "I've been relieved of duty, so I'm no longer a Lieutenant. The Commander wouldn't issue an order to have me rehabilitated unless I was an asset to the Society. Which I'm not. Tell me, Ichigo Kurosaki," the girl's eyes are glued to him: stone-hard, cold, lacking empathy but seeking answers nonetheless, "Why would you care about someone like me? Why go through all the effort when you get nothing in return?" Hinamori finishes and sits back, unable to find peach slices.

To her surprise, she sees Ichigo shift in his seat. He reaches over, grabs her plate, and moves it next to his – shuffling all the peach slices he has from one to the other and returning the plate to her.

"Okay, maybe you don't view us as friends," the teenager admits, "But you're a friend of a friend. An indirect friend. Toshiro cares about you, right? If he cares, I care."

She feels a shiver run down her spine. "Don't bring him up." Her fork stabs a peach for emphasis, hand clenching the utensil far too tightly.

"Sorry." Ichigo says.

"Your reasoning is flawed," Hinamori continues, "A friend of a friend doesn't change what I am. Why keep someone like me around? Aren't you worried what I might do? Your family is here."

"No," his words are matter-of-fact, blunt and obvious, "I can protect them."

"I can kill them in their sleep."

"You won't."

"You believe that?" the girl questions.

"Everyone's lost someone," Ichigo looks down at his fruit, lightly poking a strawberry with his fork, "Fuck, I of all people know what it's like to lose a person you care about," his hand trembles – an action so subtle Hinamori might have missed it if not for her keen gaze, "I know the shit people go through after things like… like _that _occur."

Hinamori stares at him.

"I can't let someone get punished because they're facing the same damn demons, because they haven't had time to heal!" The substitute reaper hisses, hand clenching around his fork, "That's why I stepped in! I can't let them send a stranger to that pit of hell, not when they could still recover. It's not fucking right."

"Are you trying to save me?"

Ichigo shakes his head. "I'm trying to help you," he looks at her, gaze fully showing his intent – honest and crystal clear. His voice cracks slightly but the words lose no meaning, "I- I _can't_ save you, Momo. No one but you can do that. But I can give you an opportunity to save yourself."

"All this for someone you don't know." Hinamori murmers.

To her surprise she finds Ichigo waving a fork in the air, looking at her curiously and gesturing toward the strawberries left on her plate like the conversation never happened. "You gonna eat those?"

Hinamori shakes her head and shoves the plate to him. She leans back in her seat, brown eyes staring at the wall.

It's strange. _He's strange._ That's all she can discern. He's known for being loud, for the many fights he's participated in, and for his powers, yet the very boy who defeated multiple Captains and broke into the Society does nothing but parry her remarks evenly, never tiptoeing around her. He treats her not as a prisoner, not as someone to fix, but as a person with emotions as unstable as the flames of her spirit, someone who needs patience and support to heal but ultimately must be given the time to save herself. She finds his company all _but _infuriating.

He's truthful, easy to hold conversation with, and real – more real than anything she's had up till now.

_It's… nice,_ Hinamori acknowledges_._ The girl bites her lip, stands, and pushes her chair back. She gestures toward the plates, "I'll take them to the sink... Ichigo."

He shoots her a look but complies and hands them over.

_Maybe,_ the girl thinks as she moves to the kitchen, _I could get used to him._


End file.
